I could only hope.
“Marone e mia, that was fun to watch. You’re like a frog being boiled in a pan. You know how that happens, don’t you? They put the frog in the water, then raise the temperature slowly, degree by degree, so that the frog doesn’t know it’s being boiled. By the time it figures it out, it’s just about dead.”
I pressed my lips together and stared straight ahead. I would give these bastards nothing.
“I have to say, I was rather impressed by the arsenal in your purse. Pepper spray, throwing stars, a Swiss Army contraption with several interesting items on it. For a dumb blond—or is it redhead—you were well-armed.”
I didn’t even blink.
“My men said you didn’t put up much of a fight. They surprised you well and good. I figured my boy’s truck would make you let down your guard, and I was right.”
My boy. Jesus. It took every bit of control I had not to move an eyelash.
I sucked in a shuddery breath. God, I just wanted this to be over. Surely someone was looking for me by now? I hadn’t gone to work at the Salad Hut, so they’d be calling—
Your cell phone, in your purse. The purse they took away from you.
Jenna was supposed to dance for me last night, so the club wouldn’t even look for me. Gio might’ve, if he’d come to pick me up after. Hopefully, Jenna had done okay and gotten home without incident. I needed something to have gone right, just once.
“With that letter you so considerately had in your things, you even bought us some time. Thanks to that, no one will even be looking for you, since we popped that little beauty right in the mail. So I guess I should take it back.” He chuckled. “You are a dumb blond. Or redhead. Hard to tell with that mop of yours. Girls today, they like to dye their hair. In my day, women stuck to the color God gave them. But today, it’s all about whoring around. My son, he’s always had a weakness for those kind of women.”
My mind spun. What letter?
Reality descended, sickeningly. Damn it all. That letter I’d written for insurance in case I felt like Marco and his men were getting too close. My escape valve.
I can get away anytime.
Instead, I’d helped the enemy. One of them, anyway. They were coming from all sides these days.
“My son is such a disappointment to me. To be honest, both of my sons are.”
Inwardly, I groaned. Dante could hear his father’s declaration with no trouble, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t enjoy story hour if the way it had started was any indication.
“Giovanni’s also an embarrassment. First, he decided to show everyone he wasn’t a man by choosing to play pansy at that damn floral shop. Got that from his mother, God rest her soul. Then he took up with that whore Andretti and flaunted that he didn’t care about loyalty. He could do what he wanted. He
brought shame to my family’s name, and for that, I will never stand.” He walked in front of me toward the windows, and I wiggled my fingers again. The rope holding my wrists was barely looped. One sharp jerk and I’d be free. My hands, at least.
“He was supposed to be dead that day, not Emilia.”
My hands went slack. I stared at Giovanni’s father’s back, my eyes smarting not for me, but for Gio. For what I’d just learned.
How could a father want to kill his own son?
“Killing Emilia was more trouble than she was worth. The Andrettis have wanted my head ever since. And Giovanni, that damn fool, walked away that day and right into their lair. Does he think they are so stupid not to know what he’s up to? He’s the stupid one, trying to outmaneuver those with decades of experience.” He paced along the length of the windows, hands linked behind his back. “And Dante… Dante thinks one day I’ll leave him in command, when we both know he’s not fit to lead. He’s not as soft as Giovanni, but he’s not much better. The first time he killed a man, he cried. Merda, such pussies. How did I end up with them?”
I tried to make sense of what I was hearing. His father had wanted Gio dead, but Emilia had gotten in the way somehow.
And Gio had gone to the Andrettis for what? He’d tried to outmaneuver them, maybe thinking it was the Andrettis who’d had Emilia killed?
Anything had to be better than imagining your own father wanted you dead, right? So maybe he’d wanted revenge. Perhaps his supposed allegiance to them had all been part of an elaborate plot.
Maybe he’d never truly been in league with them after all.
I sucked in another breath. If that was true, he wasn’t like them. Thank God. I wasn’t crazy to think he was a good person—no saint, definitely not, but better than them. Better than this evil piece of shit standing before me.
“At least Dante stayed on the side of right. Giovanni is as good as dead. Worst of all, the fool never even figured out who tried to take him out. Disloyalty is bad enough, but willful stupidity? His mother was no better.”
Though I ached to tell this bastard to go to hell, to defend Gio and his mother’s honor, I didn’t make a sound. I wanted him to keep talking.